


Sit. Stay. Be Dead.

by Lassenby



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Humor, M/M, bdsm (minor characters), canon-style mystery, pet play (also minor characters), set around seasons 3 or 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26368897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassenby/pseuds/Lassenby
Summary: When a young man dies under mysterious and kinky circumstances, Shawn needs a fake boyfriend to investigate undercover. This is strictly for crime solving reasons, and in no way because he wants to strut around looking fabulous with a gorgeous Irish detective on his arm. Feelings and revelations ensue.
Relationships: Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
Comments: 37
Kudos: 142





	1. Chapter 1

** 1989 **

Shawn was being buried alive.

He and his father had spent most of the morning digging a hole deep enough for Shawn to kneel in. Then they had scooped the sand back in, filling in the gaps around Shawn’s arms and legs and body until he could barely move an inch in the cool, damp sand.

As Henry packed down the sand around Shawn’s neck, Shawn looked around at the beach from the unique perspective of a severed head.

Seagulls hopped around, stealing up to picnics and fighting over discarded sandwich crusts. A little kid ran squealing back to his mom when the surf washed over his feet. Women lay stretched out on towels, their skin brown and gleaming in the sun.

A little further down the beach, a pair of men held hands with their fingers laced, chatting and laughing quietly.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Shawn said.

Henry followed his gaze. “Ohhh.” He cleared his throat. “Well, Shawn, you see, when a man and a man...well, not every man, but some men...When they meet another man, who, uh…”

Shawn gave him a blank look.

Henry sighed.

“Okay. So, you know how you want to marry Buttercup from that Princess Bride movie when you grow up? Well, that guy over there probably feels that same way about Westley. Does that make sense?”

“Dad, I know about gay people. I just meant that guy is a solid nine, but the other guy is a four. Even without that terrible haircut he’d barely be a five. I just don’t get it.”

“So you were just going to let me squirm, huh?”

“You actually did pretty good. You barely turned red at all.”

“Okay, wiseass,” Henry said. “Now it’s your turn to squirm.”

“Huh?”

Henry picked a slice of bread off his sandwich and placed it carefully on his son’s head. Then he got up and walked away.

A seagull landed nearby. It cocked its head, studying Shawn with one shiny black eye. Shawn swallowed.

“Dad. Dad!”

Henry chuckled as he continued down the beach without looking back.

** Present **

The sound of screaming gulls continued into the present. Dozens of white Vs wheeled against a blue Santa Barbara sky as Gus and Shawn walked side by side up the driveway of a modern mansion perched right on the beach. Windows covered almost every geometric side of the sprawling mansion, blue mirrors of sky and sea.

Crime scene tape was strung across the mansion entrance and the driveway was cluttered with cop cars, which Shawn and Gus walked between.

As they reached the door, a seagull slammed into the window above them with a loud ‘thunk’ and fell dead at their feet. Both men stared down at it.

“That’s foreboding,” Shawn said.

Officer Buzz McNabb appeared in the doorway. “Hey Shawn, Hey Gus!” When he saw the dead gull, he said,” Aw, not again. That’s like the third one since we got here.”

“Who could live like this?” Gus asked. “Having to sweep up bird corpses all day. That’s messed up.”

Shawn held up a white paper cup to show Buzz. “I brought Lassie’s coffee.”

“Come on, you guys. You’re not getting me with that one again,” Buzz said. “Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice and, well, then you’re just being a jerk.”

Carlton Lassiter appeared beside Buzz in the doorway and took the coffee out of Shawn’s hand.

“Took you long enough,” he said.

“Sorry, new barista. He kept messing up your order. I tried to tell him it’s eight shots of espresso and just a _twist_ of orange zest. What’s so difficult about that?”

Carlton frowned. “I specifically said-”

“I’m kidding, Lassie, lighten up! It’s cream and four sugars, just the way you like it. Hey, is that how you like your men, too? Hot, light, and disgustingly sweet?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Carlton said.

“Detective? You called them?” Buzz asked, his brows pinched in confusion.

“They would have bumbled in eventually,” Carlton said. “At least this way they’ll be on the same page, instead of Spencer acting smug about things the department already knows.”

“It’s okay, Lassie,” Shawn said, putting his hand on Carlton’s shoulder. “Asking for help is nothing to be ashamed of. We all need someone to lean on.”

Carlton scowled. He twisted out from under Shawn’s hand and strode back into the house.

Shawn knew he should probably lay off. After all, Carlton deserved something for actually inviting Shawn and Gus to a crime scene for once. But teasing the man was just too much fun.

They followed Carlton into the spacious open living area.

“Oh my God!” Shawn yelled, making Gus jump.

“What?” Gus asked.

“Look at that pool!” Shawn went over to the sliding glass door on the back of the house. “It’s huge! Gus, doesn’t that pool look sweet? We should get one for the office.”

“Our lease doesn’t even allow for waterbeds or aquariums, Shawn. I seriously doubt they’d let you put in a pool.”

“But it doesn’t specifically say we can’t have a pool, so that means we _can_ have one,” Shawn explained. “Didn’t you learn anything from Air Bud?”

“Spencer!” Carlton snapped. “Get in here.”

Gus and Shawn hurried after the detective and into a massive bedroom open to an ensuite bathroom.

Shawn looked around, taking in details.

Uncomfortable looking modern furniture. Body on the bed, sheet pulled up to the chest. Ring of bruises around the corpse’s neck, partially obscured by a dog collar. Bottle of wine on the bedside table. Two glasses, one full, the other empty. A full windowed wall looking out onto the balcony and that beautiful sparkling blue pool...damn, it really did look inviting. Could he get away with popping out there for a quick reading? Maybe he could take off his shoes and dangle his feet in if he said something about the water being a conduit for the spirits...

Gus elbowed Shawn to get his attention.

“That’s a nineteen ninety-six Chateau Latour.”

Shawn followed his gaze, expecting to find some kind of poodle, but it turned out Gus was talking about the wine.

“So?”

“For your information, Shawn, it’s an excellent vintage. Very bouchey.”

“I prefer my wine grape-y, with an aromatic finish. Don’t drink that, by the way. It’s poisoned.”

Gus had been leaning over the open bottle with his nostrils flaring appreciatively, but now he took a quick step backward.

“I wasn’t going to,” he snipped.

Carlton walked around to the bedside. “Victim is a twenty-two year old male, Jesse Orrison. Lost consciousness while, ah. Spending quality time with his companion, Richard Hovat, who’s already been taken down to the station to be questioned. The victim was dead before EMTs arrived on the scene.”

“Where’s Jules?” Shawn asked.

“At the station, probably getting ready to interrogate my perp. So do your-” Carlton made some waving motions around his head. “-thing, and make it quick.”

“The spirits can’t be rushed, Lassie. The realm of psychicallitude is a vast, nebulous plane. It can take awhile to-”

“Shawn,” Gus said.

“Okay, I am picking up something. This was no death by misadventure. This was...murder.”

“Anything more specific?” Carlton asked.

“Wait, hang on. Isn’t this the part where you tell me I’m wrong? This was just an accident, open and shut case, yadda yadda, get out of my crime scene Spencer?”

“I’m having serious regrets about bringing you in on this.”

Shawn put his fingers to his temples. “Wait. I’m sensing something else. The wine…it’s an excellent visage. Very boozy. Very, very poisoned.”

“Great. I’ll have the lab run toxicology on the dead man and the wine.”

Shawn tried to linger behind, edging toward the sliding glass door with the seductive pool beyond it, but Carlton grabbed him by the back of the neck and steered him out of the room. “ _Now_ you can get out of my crime scene, Spencer.”

“Aw, but we were getting along so well for a change. Also, ‘spending quality time with his companion’? Really? It’s called sex, Lassie, and it’s a beautiful thing. You should really try it sometime.”

“Not the way they were doing it,” Carlton said.

Shawn raised an eyebrow at Gus, who shrugged. He wondered what Lassie meant by that, but knew he would probably find out soon enough.


	2. Chapter 2

Through the two-way mirror, Shawn watched Carlton sit down across from the man at the interrogation room table. Richard Hovat was middle aged, his hair turning stylishly gray around the temples, though not nearly as sexy as Carlton’s salt and pepper. His hands were folded neatly on the table.

He looked calm and composed. The only sign that he had recently witnessed a man’s death was his slightly rumpled dress shirt, the top button undone as though he’d dressed in a hurry.

“Mr. Hovat,” Carlton said, looking at the man with a predatory gleam in his eyes. “I was just hoping you could explain why you killed your partner.”

“I know my rights, Detective.”

“You want to lawyer up? Be my guest. A jury will see right through your murdering ass.”

“My ass didn’t murder anyone. I assume the bruises on Jesse’s neck are the reason that you consider me a suspect?”

“You know what they say about assumptions.” Carlton gave a wry smile.

“If your forensics department checks the bruises, they will be a perfect match for my fingers,” Richard said.

“Could you write that down?”

Carlton pushed a paper across to Richard, who dutifully began to write.

“They will also discover,” Richard continued without looking up from the page. “That Jesse didn’t die of strangulation.”

“You’re sure of that?” Carlton asked.

“The choking was entirely consensual. I keep a close watch for signs of genuine respiratory distress, and we have a safeword. If Jesse ever wanted to stop, he would have said the word and I would have stopped immediately, no questions asked.”

“That’s one theory,” Carlton said. “Another is that you already know the victim didn’t die of strangulation because you know the _real_ cause of death.”

“Sorry? I don’t follow.”

“You poisoned him, Dick.”

Carlton was clearly expecting some expression of guilt or fear, but Richard only stared back at him evenly. Watching through the window, Shawn couldn’t be sure if Carlton’s accusation caused any reaction at all.

“I think I’ll call my lawyer now.”

“No problem,” Carlton said, surprisingly cheerful as he stood up from the table. “I’ll be seeing you again very soon.”

Outside the interrogation room, Gus turned to Shawn. “Did he do it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Shawn admitted.

Carlton emerged from the interrogation room, chest puffed out with pride.

“He didn’t do it,” Shawn said.

“But I thought you said-” Gus started. Shawn elbowed him into silence.

“Find one shred of evidence to the contrary and I’ll happily go through your whole psychic mumbo jumbo song and dance, but until then, Richard Hovat is our murderer,” Carlton said.

“Come on, Lassie, you know evidence isn’t really my thing. I’m more of a vibes kind of guy.”

Carlton rolled his eyes and strode out of the room, leaving Shawn to sulk.

“If you ask me, this is a good thing,” Gus said. “I'm not touching this case with a ten foot pole.”

“We’re not giving up.” Shawn looked Gus up and down. “What size harness do you wear? Forty-two?”

“Shawn,” Gus warned.

“Sorry. Thirty-six? Never mind, we’ll get it fitted.”

“I am _not_ wearing a- Shawn, don’t you walk away from me. Shawn!”

* * *

Gus absolutely refused to go undercover.

No amount of favor cashing, bullying or blackmail was enough to change his mind. Shawn tried everything. Gus ignored him.

This wasn’t the first time Gus had tried to put his foot down, but Shawn had always gotten him to come along before, even if it was by physically dragging him. When Shawn tried dragging him this time, Gus went boneless.

Which was why Shawn came alone when he returned to the police station that evening.

The station was characteristically busy during the shift change, some officers rushing to finish their paperwork so they could go home, others just arriving and getting themselves coffee. A freshly brewed pot filled the station with its caffeinated aroma.

Juliet O’Hara was sitting at her desk, bent over some papers. She didn’t see Shawn approach.

He perched on the edge of her desk. “Hey Jules.”

“Shawn, hi!” She smiled brightly, but her happiness was quickly replaced by suspicion. “What do you want?”

“How do you know I didn't just come to hang out?”

Juliet raised an eyebrow.

Shawn folded. “Okay, there is this one thing. Is that the Orrison file?”

“Yes, but I can’t let you read it. You’re not officially on this case.”

“I know! I’m not trying to solve anything. When I innocently came down here for a visit, I was suddenly and unexpectedly called by nature.”

For a moment, Juliet looked puzzled. Then she made a face. “Ew, Shawn.”

“Jules, please. You know I’m a shy pooper. I can’t go if I don’t have something to read.”

“Mr. Spencer!”

Shawn turned to see Chief Vick emerge from her office.

“In my office, please. O’Hara, Lassiter, you too.”

Shawn and Juliet exchanged a glance. She shrugged.

When they were all assembled in the office, Chief Vick rounded her desk and sat down.

“The toxicology report for Jesse Orrison came back. There were traces of aconite in his body, which matched the poisoned wine found at the scene.”

“I knew it,” Carlton said, as if Shawn hadn’t handed him that information on a silver platter.

“Unfortunately, there’s no evidence that Richard Hovat had anything to do with the poisoning. Hovat’s lawyer will no doubt point out that the poison could have been injected into a sealed bottle through the cork, and Hovat himself insists the wine was a gift from an anonymous admirer.”

Carlton scoffed. “You don’t honestly believe that crap? Only the victim drank out of his glass. Hovat knew damn well not to take a sip.”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe, Detective. Ultimately, it will depend on the jury. And there’s another problem.”

“What is it?” Juliet asked.

Chief Vick hesitated. “Hovat’s lawyer has threatened to counter-sue the department for discrimination. He claims that we’re unfairly targeting Richard Hovat based on his sexual relationship with the victim. His homosexual relationship.”

“That’s bullshit!” Carlton said. “Chief, I-”

Chief Vick held up a hand to silence him.

“Listen, Detective. I’m with you on this. But if we don’t investigate any other leads, it’s going to look bad for the department.”

“There are no other leads,” Carlton said through gritted teeth.

“Wait!” Shawn closed his eyes and touched his temples. “I’m feeling something. I’m feeling...pretty.”

He sashayed across the floor, swinging his hips. “I feel pretty,” he sing-songed.

“And witty?” Jules guessed.

Shawn grinned and flung himself at Carlton, his arm sliding around the tall detective’s back. Nobody else in the room could see him squeeze Carlton’s butt, but it was pretty obvious from the way the detective jumped. Plus the shocked expression and blush creeping up to his ears.

“And-”

“We get the gist,” Chief Vick said. “And this kind of behavior is exactly why we’re getting sued.”

Carlton shoved Shawn and sent him staggering away.

Shawn cleared his throat. “I was going to say ‘gay’. I’m sensing that the victim was a regular at the Rainbow Road nightclub.”

“That’s true,” Juliet said, clearly impressed.

Shawn had actually divined the name of the club through purely mortal means. A google search back at Psych headquarters had turned up Jesse’s facebook page, his activity wall plastered with selfies of himself and his friends hanging out at the place. Shawn had made a mental note of the other men he saw in the pictures, too. They would be a good starting point for the investigation.

“Chief, if I may make a suggestion,” Shawn said.

“Shoot.”

“Gus is a tiny bit insecure in his masculinity, and I fear a case like this will make him run and hide like a pathetic little man baby, which leaves me without a partner. I was hoping I could borrow someone.”

“This is highly unorthodox, Mr. Spencer. Who did you have in mind?”

“It would have to be someone more secure in their masculinity. A manly man. A little rugged, but in a refined way. Someone who cleans up nice. A man with great hair, a low, sexy voice, and an impeccable sense of style.”

“Sounds more like you’re ordering a boyfriend,” Carlton said, smirking.

“For heaven’s sake, gentlemen, the lawsuit,” Chief Vick said.

“Right. Sorry.”

“Actually, Lassie, you’re not wrong,” Shawn said. “This person would be posing as my romantic partner when we go undercover, so it has to be realistic. Nobody would buy it if I were dating a 5 or a 6. To pull this off, I’ll need the most handsome Irish boyfriend the department’s got.”

“Fine,” Vick said. “You can borrow Lassiter.”

“Chief!” Carlton said.

“I will consider it a personal favor, Detective.”

Shawn grinned. “Undercover with Lassie. Under...covers. There’s a joke in there somewhere, I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“This is _not_ an undercover assignment. You and Detective Carlton are just going to talk to the victim’s friends, find out if he had any enemies, and psychically divine anything relevant to this case. However,” Chief Vick said. “It wouldn’t hurt to blend in.”

“Lassie, what size harness do you wear?” Shawn asked, grinning. “Approximately. And please say a thirty-six, because the boutique said it doesn’t take returns.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next night, Carlton parked his car in front of the Rainbow Road nightclub and climbed out. Shawn got out of the passenger side.

Neon pink light from the club’s sign washed over the parking lot. By its pepto bismol glow, Carlton studied Shawn’s ensemble with a frown.

“I can’t believe you’re wearing that,” Carlton said.

Shawn was sporting a lime green mesh tanktop. Through the mesh, Carlton could see the man’s actual nipples, which was how he knew that Shawn was wearing clip-on nipple rings. Unless Shawn had real nipple piercings, but Carlton wasn’t prepared to think about that right now.

“This? I can’t believe you’re wearing _that,_ ” Shawn said.

“It’s what I always wear,” Carlton said.

“Exactly. What about blending in? They’re going to know you’re a cop.”

“We’re not undercover, Spencer.”

“Lassie, please. Nobody is going to talk to a narc. At least lose the tie.”

Carlton rolled his eyes but obediently unfastened his tie, folded it and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

Shawn stepped forward and was suddenly standing way inside of Carlton’s comfort zone. Before Carlton could ask what he was doing, Shawn had reached up to undo the top button of his dress shirt. The proximity and the intimacy of the gesture made Carlton’s heart skip a beat. He hoped his face didn’t show it.

Shawn grinned up at him.

“Much better. This is a sexy stud muffin I won’t be ashamed to be seen with on the dance floor.”

Carlton meant to fire back some witty retort. But by the time he felt like he could talk without his voice betraying him, the window for come-backs had passed.

Noise and darkness greeted them inside the club. Electronic music throbbed so hard, the walls shook. Carlton had the claustrophobic feeling of being crushed inside a gigantic beating heart.

On the far side of the club, a bar was backlit by pink and teal neon. More colorful lights strobed over the dance floor. Throngs of people were out there bumping and grinding in time with the music.

Carlton steered well around the sea of bodies as he picked his way toward the bar.

Of course the bar was crowded, too. With nowhere to sit, Carlton and Shawn wedged themselves in with the others standing around and somehow managed to flag the bartender. Carlton ordered a whisky, then immediately regretted it when Shawn ordered some overly sweet, complicated sounding pineapple concoction that sounded delicious.

Before their drinks could arrive, a blond man approached them. Two men flagged him to the left and right, but the blonde was clearly the ringleader.

He sized up Carlton with a smile. “You’re a new face around here,” he said, half yelling to be heard above the music. “Such a handsome face, too.”

“Bitch, oh my God, you are totally scoping out my man,” Shawn said in a fake voice so flamboyant it made Carlton cringe.

The blonde looked Shawn up and down, unimpressed, before returning his attention to Carlton.

“I’m Drew Dawes. Myles, Salvadore, don’t be rude. Say hi.” The latter he said to his companions.

Myles and Salvadore grinned sheepishly and shook Carlton’s hand, ignoring Shawn completely. No doubt taking their cue from Drew.

“I’m Shawn Spencer. _Psychic_.” Shawn waited for that to land, but when it didn’t make a ripple, he looked deflated. “And this is my partner, Shlo-”

“Carlton Lassiter,” Carlton interrupted. He shook Myles’s hand. “Detective with the Santa Barbara police department.”

Shawn kicked him in the shin.

“Oh Carly, you’re such a kidder.”

If looks could kill, the one Carlton shot would have put Shawn in the hospital at least. That kick had actually hurt. _._

“A detective, wow,” Drew purred. “Do you get to carry a gun? Are you packing right now?”

Carlton grinned and began to reach into his coat. Shawn’s hand on his arm stopped him.

Shawn shook his head.

“Right,” Carlton said. “I’ve been told I should stop flashing my piece in public. I could show you my cuffs, though.”

“Maybe later.” Drew winked. “Why don’t you come sit with us? We have a booth in the back. It gets so busy in here, it can be a little intimidating when you don’t know anyone.”

They got their drinks and followed the three club-goers to their booth. The back of the club was quieter.

Shawn slid into the booth first.

Carlton always sat on the outside of booths so he wouldn’t be trapped. He liked the ability to spring up quickly and reach his gun in case of a threat. His eyes kept darting back to the crowd to scan for any sign of danger.

“I can tell you’re a detective,” Drew said. Now that he wasn’t shouting over the crowd, Carlton could hear that he spoke with a slight southern twang. “You’re always in guard dog mode. I’m the same way.”

“He’s a mother hen,” Myles said.

“It’s true,” Drew admitted. “This place is like a second home to me. I know all the regulars. I can’t help but see them all as my little chickies. I want to tuck them under my wing and keep them safe.”

“So you must have known Jesse Orrison,” Carlton said.

“Poor Jesse. That was so awful,” Drew said. “I tried to tell him to stay away from that wolf, but does anyone ever listen to me? Of course not.”

“Wolf?” Carlton said.

“The wolf. Yes, I can see him.” Shawn held his fingers up to his temples. “But I think there’s some static? No- no, that’s just his hair. Salt and pepper. Fit, firm, sharply dressed. Hubba hubba, am I right?”

“Richard Hovat,” Drew said grimly. “He’s scum. If you have any sense, you’ll stay away from him.”

“Actually, I heard he had nothing to do with Jessie’s death,” Shawn said, leaning in conspiratorially. “I heard that someone sent him a poisoned bottle of wine.”

“That’s impossible,” Drew dismissed. “Jesse didn’t drink.”

That was interesting. Carlton made a mental note of it. If Orrison didn’t drink, it might mean he had been forced to drink the poison under duress.

Shawn noisily slurped the dregs of his alcoholic smoothie through a curly straw, then broke off with an exaggerated ‘ahhh’. Only then did he seem to notice everyone at the table glaring at him.

“What?”

* * *

Holy crap. They all hated him.

Shawn didn’t know where he’d gone wrong. Unlike Carlton, he had actually dressed for the part. Though, in hindsight, none of the club’s regular patrons were dressed quite so ostentatiously. Shawn had even rehearsed the voice. That was more effort than he had ever put into a ruse before.

And yet, these people clearly had beef with him. Myles and Salvadore wouldn’t even look in his direction.

Shawn picked up right away that the two other men took their cues from Drew Dawes. Since Drew had expressed contempt for Shawn, the others did as well.

Nothing Shawn did seemed to help. Over the next half hour he tried:

  * Dishing primo celebrity gossip

  * Seducing the mother hen with his masculine wiles

  * Scathing wit

  * Looking really sad in hopes that someone would take pity on him




And earned nothing for his effort.

Was this how Carlton felt all the time? Working hard at a thankless job, only to have Shawn succeed with apparent ease wherever he failed?

It didn’t help that Drew was shamelessly flirting with Carlton. The man kept reaching across the table to ‘casually’ brush against Carlton’s hand, laughing at all his jokes, begging him for more detective stories.

Carlton seemed happy to comply.

Shawn had expected Carlton to be uncomfortable with this assignment. He’d been looking forward to watching the detective squirm. This was all wrong. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Carlton was flirting back.

To cope with the rejection, Shawn downed a second fruity drink, then a third. His head was beginning to feel loose and spinny. Those drinks packed a punch. A fruity punch.

He giggled to himself.

Shawn clambered across Carlton’s lap and spilled out of the booth.

“I’m gonna dance,” he announced.

“Have fun,” Carlton said.

“Seriously? You’re going to let your boyfriend dance alone? Lassie, I’m surprised at you. I thought you were a gentleman.”

“Actually, we’re going to hit the dance floor too,” Drew said. He got up, rounded the table and leaned down to whisper something into Carlton’s ear. He wasn’t at the right angle for Shawn to read his lips, but whatever he said left the detective visibly flustered.

Shawn watched Drew and his two followers disappear into the crowd.

“Slut,” Shawn said under his breath.

“Go on. I’m sure you can make a fool of yourself without me,” Carlton said, smiling in that insufferable way that sometimes, against all reason, made Shawn think about kissing him.

“Come on, Lassie. You know I’m only a fool for you.” When Carlton didn’t budge, Shawn tch’ed. “Fine. I’m not going to beg. I bet there are loads of guys out there who would love to dance with me.”

Shawn wandered out onto the floor and let the music move him. Before long, some guy caught his eye and they fell into sync, hips moving together in a way that Shawn might have reservations about if he weren’t so buzzed. He wasn’t really the dancing type. But tonight it felt easy. Natural.

A different guy cut in, this one blonde and muscular. When the song ended, Shawn found himself dancing with someone else, a skinny redhead with a smattering of freckles across his nose.

He probably danced with half a dozen guys. Their faces blurred together, a kaleidoscope of different features under shifting rainbow lights.

Shawn was grinding with a cute dude with a really bad haircut when a firm hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up, and there was Carlton, looking tall and stoic and sexy as hell.

“I need to borrow my partner,” he said, raising his voice over the throb of techno.

Shawn’s dance partner slipped away into the crowd, and Carlton turned Shawn to face him. Damn, he had a firm grip. And was that a possessive glint in the detective’s cool blue eyes?

Shawn wondered what it would be like to be Carlton’s boyfriend for real. He thought the detective might be the jealous type. Not the tire slashing, replying to every post on your facebook ex-girlfriend type of jealous, but the good type. Shawn could imagine flirting with other people to get a rise out of Carlton and Carlton dragging him off to the bathroom, pushing him against the wall, kissing him hard. Maybe he’d leave a hickey or two to show everyone who Shawn belonged to.

Carlton had said something, but Shawn had missed it.

“Huh?”

Carlton scowled. “Bathroom. Now.”

Shawn’s heart leaped into his throat. It was too close to what he had been imagining. Carlton probably just wanted to talk about the investigation, but since his arm slid possessively around Shawn’s back as he steered him across the crowded dance floor, Shawn couldn’t rule anything out.

But when they stumbled into the harsh florescence of the bathroom, Carlton let go and stalked off to lean against the sinks.

“This has been a complete waste of time,” Carlton said. “Have you picked up anything?”

“I’m sensing that Drew guy really doesn’t like me.”

Carlton scoffed. “You don’t need magic powers to see that.”

“I just don’t get it. Everyone likes me. I’m very likeable.”

“What did you expect, Spencer? You’ve been mincing around out there like a walking stereotype. Any self respecting queer person would be offended.”

“Oh, suddenly you’re the sensitivity expert?” Shawn snipped.

Carlton ignored him. He stuck one foot up on the sink and rolled up his pant leg, inspecting his shin.

“That’s going to bruise,” he said. “If you ever kick me again, Spencer, I swear on all that is holy-”

“Whoah,” Shawn said. “How deep undercover are you?”

Carlton raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re wearing dude lingerie.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“That...garter belt thingy.” Shawn gestured to Carlton’s exposed leg.

“Christ, Spencer, it’s a sock garter, not lingerie,” Carlton said, rolling down his pant leg. “They keep my socks from sliding down.”

“What century did you buy your socks in? It sounds like the elastic is worn out.”

“My socks are fine,” Carlton said thinly.

“Suit yourself. But I’ve never worn lingerie in my life, and my socks always stay right where I put them.”

Carlton looked like he might punch him, but they were interrupted by someone coming into the bathroom.

Drew beamed when he saw Carlton.

“There you are, Carlton! I was hoping to see you before you left.”

Shawn slid his arm around Carlton’s waist.

“Oh, is that right?” Shawn asked. “And what did you want with him, you...maneater?”

Drew ignored him.

“I’m having a little get together at my house tomorrow,” Drew said. He handed Carlton a business card with a handwritten home address on the back, along with a time--4:00 pm--and a little heart. ”I was hoping you could come.”

“Work keeps me busy, but I’ll try to make it. Thank you,” Carlton said.

“What kind of shindig is it? Some kind of wild sex party? A rave?” Shawn asked.

Drew shot him a look. “It’s a book club.”

“Oh.”

Before they left the bathroom, Shawn ‘accidentally’ bumped into Carlton and stole the card with Drew’s address from his jacket pocket.


	4. Chapter 4

“I’m telling you, dude, he was wearing lingerie,” Shawn said.

“Are you sure they weren’t just sock garters?” Gus asked.

“Tomato, tomato.”

“It’s not the same, Shawn. Sock garters are a staple of a professional man’s wardrobe.”

“Professional stripper, maybe.”

“I don’t wanna talk about Lassiter’s underwear. I want to know where we’re going.”

Shawn and Gus had been following winding suburban roads until they reached the address on the card. They parked on the street outside a white ranch house, small but well maintained with a neatly mowed lawn. Shawn double checked the address against the card. This was the right place. 

“Just a small gathering, no big deal. A guy from last night invited us.”

“What kind of ‘small gathering’?” Gus asked. “It’s not an orgy, is it?”

Shawn scoffed. “Gus, I expected better from you. Frankly, it’s offensive that you would just assume that any party at a homosexual man’s house would be some kind of orgy or rave.”

“I didn’t say rave. Don’t put words in my mouth. And I’ll have you know, I’m woke as hell. If anything, you’re the one who’s homophobic.”

“I’m way more woke than you. I’m triple espresso levels of high-octane, clean running awokedness.”

“You don’t even know what woke means, do you?”

Shawn hesitated. “No.”

Gus psh’ed. “Basic.”

“Fine. But I really do need your help here.”

“I thought you and Lassiter were working together on this one.”

“I couldn’t bring him,” Shawn said. “You should have seen it last night. They were all over Lassie. It’s like he was chum and these guys were sharks swarming in to get a bite, total bloodbath. And Drew was the worst of them.”

“So you want to throw me to the sharks instead,” Gus extrapolated.

Shawn got out of the car. He was mildly surprised when Gus followed him up Drew’s driveway. He certainly hadn’t earned any favors. Maybe Gus just wanted to prove that he was ‘woke’, whatever that meant.

Shawn rang the bell.

“Don’t you dare introduce me as something stupid, Shawn,” Gus hissed.

“But you love my fake names.”

“Not this time. I-”

There was the sound of voices and feet approaching the door.

Gus shushed Shawn loudly and Shawn shushed back, which began a rapid, whispered argument. They cut it out when the door swung open.

Drew greeted them with a host’s warm smile, which promptly fell away when he saw Shawn standing on his stoop.

“Great. It’s you.”

“And you’re you! Me and you! Us. Reunited and it feels  _ so _ good.”

Shawn shouldered past Drew without waiting to be invited in. Gus followed with an apologetic glance at their host.

The other guests were gathered in the living room, sitting in a semicircle on the couch and armchairs.

Shawn looked around.

Eight men, some he recognised from the club last night. Myles was here but Salvadore was notably absent. Snacks on the coffee table- crustless sandwiches and cucumber rounds. Glasses of ice water, orange juice and tequila sunrises. Most of the men had a book in their lap.

He picked up more specific details too.

Shawn had failed to win over Drew, but he could at least impress the guy’s friends. He put his fingers to his temples.

He pointed at a heavyset man wearing new cowboy boots, unscuffed, and a bolo tie that he wasn’t pulling off.

“You. What’s your name?”

“Um. Dave?”

“Daaaaave, come on, man. Don’t change yourself just to impress a guy. If he doesn’t appreciate the real Dave, he doesn’t deserve you.”

Shawn turned his attention to a man with dark bags under his eyes. A bookmark stuck out in the first quarter of his book. Coffee cup rings stained the cover.

“And you…” Shawn squinted at the man’s personalized bookmark. “Anthony. If you keep burning the wick at both ends, you’re going to burn out. Take care of yourself, okay? And don’t worry that you didn’t have time to finish the book. We’ve all been there. Am I right, gentlemen?”

“How did you know that?” Anthony asked.

“I’m a psychic,” Shawn said. He reveled in the appreciative murmurs for a moment before continuing. “My name is Shawn Spencer, and this is my partner-”

“Business partner,” Gus interrupted.

“This is my business partner, Guster ‘Big Bear’ Burton.”

Gus opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to reconsider with an appreciative held tilt.

“They were just leaving,” Drew said pointedly.

“C’mon, Drew, let them stay,” the cowboy said. “A psychic could bring a unique perspective to the group.”

Drew sighed. “Whatever. Just sit down.”

They sat, and Drew called the book club to order.

After only a few minutes, Shawn couldn’t keep his leg from bouncing. His attention wandered as the group took turns giving insights into the book--this week they were discussing City of Girls--and it’s various themes and subtexts.

Shawn hadn’t come to talk books. He was looking for clues.

Anthony fidgeted in his seat, adjusting his shirt so something briefly showed beneath the collar of his polo.

Shawn flashed back to the collar on the victim’s neck. It had been distinct. Black with seafoam green accents and a star shaped tag. The collar he’d caught a glimpse of on Late-night’s neck had the same green stitching.

It was a stretch, but Shawn was nothing if not limber.

“What about you, psychic?” Drew asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Would you like to share your insights into the book?”

“Actually, I would.”

Shawn tried to stand up, but Gus pulled him back down.

“You haven’t read the book,” Gus hissed.

“You don’t know that. I’m a big-” Shawn meant to say ‘fan of so-and-so’, but he couldn’t get a clear glimpse of the author’s name, so instead he finished- “...nerd. I’m a huge closet nerd.”

Gus rolled his eyes and let go of Shawn’s arm.

Shawn sprang to his feet. “Okay! So!” He clapped his hands together. “This book seems pretty sweet. The chapters about girls? I’m way into it. The city? Chef’s kiss. Delicious.”

“You’re making a fool of yourself,” Gus said.

“Why do people keep saying that to me?” Shawn shook his head. “Whatever. What I really enjoyed about the book were the themes of  _ guilt _ and  _ betrayal. _ ”

Shawn paused to look pointedly on the room. Mainly checking Anthony’s reaction.

“The way the protagonist feels when she betrays her friend, I think a lot of people can relate to that. Some of us more than others. You!” Shawn pointed at Anthony.

“Me?” The man blinked owlishly. 

“Like the spunky heroine of this great novel, you were just trying to have fun, right? That’s why you slept with Richard Hovat. You didn’t expect to fall in love.”

“I...well, no, I didn’t,” he admitted. “It just happened.”

“But you couldn’t have him, because Richard already had a boyfriend. So you got rid of the competition.”

Shawn pulled down the front of Sleepless-in-Santa-Barbara’s polo shirt, revealing the collar around his neck. Just as he’d suspected, it was the same style as the one Jesse had been wearing, right down to the star-shaped tag.

“You killed Jesse,” Shawn said. “And the guilt has been gnawing away at you, keeping you up at night.”

“No! I didn’t- I would never. Jesse was my friend.”

“If I learned anything from City of Girls-”

“You didn’t,” Gus hissed.

Shawn elbowed him.

“What I learned from this book is that people are capable of hurting their friends. Look at Gus here. He’s my best friend, I’m pretty sure I just knocked the wind out of him with that elbow jab. You okay, buddy?”

“This is ridiculous,” Drew said. He stepped between Shawn and Anthony, his arms crossed over his chest. “Richard has lots of pets. Are you going to accuse them all of murder?”

“Pets?” Shawn asked.

“His submissive partners. You really don’t know anything, do you, psychic? Jesse wasn’t Richard’s boyfriend. He was his pet. One of many.”

“So they had an open relationship,” Shawn said.

Drew scoffed. “Nothing as healthy as that. Richard has plenty of partners but he’s possessive of his pets. Demands that they wear the collar everywhere and never sleep with anyone else. He demands absolute loyalty, and what does he offer in return? Jackshit.”

“He’s not that bad,” Anthony said weakly. “It’s all consensual. We have a safeword-”

“Safeword!” Drew barked a humorless laugh. “That bastard never respected a safeword in his life. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with consensual kink, but Richard is an abuser. Men like him give the scene a bad name.”

“Do you think he’s bad enough to have committed a murder?” Gus asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Drew! I can’t believe you,” one of the guests said. “I know you don’t like Richard, but accusing him of murder is too much.”

“Sorry. You’re right.” Drew took a deep breath. “Shawn, Big Bear, I’ll see you out.”

“Us?” Shawn said. “Why?”

“For starters, you crashed our book club. And you accused my friend of murder.”

“I apologized for that.”

“No you didn’t,” Gus chimed in.

“Huh. I stand corrected.”

While he and Gus were being ushered to the door by Drew, it occurred to Shawn that if he had to be escorted angrily out of a building, he prefered Lassiter’s strong hand around the back of his neck.

“Wait,” Drew whispered when they reached the front door.

Shawn and Gus stopped and turned back to him, eyebrows raised.

Drew looked around furtively. “Richard donates a lot of money to LGBT causes. When the Rainbow Road was going under a couple years ago, he single-handedly bailed them out. That’s why everyone turns a blind eye to behavior.”

“Interesting. But how do we know this isn’t just sour grapes? No offence, Drew, but it sounds to me like you’re jealous.”

“Shawn would know all about jealousy,” Gus said. “It’s kind of his thing.”

“Why, Gus?” Shawn said.

“If you don’t believe me, talk to January Delgato.” Drew glanced back down the foyer, as if checking that nobody had followed him into earshot. “That’s all I can say. Jan was brave enough to cross Richard, but I’m not.”

Before Shawn could say anything, Drew shut the door between them.


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re probably wondering why I brought you here today,” Carlton said.

Juliet looked around at the Pacific Bistro patio. She and Carlton were sitting across from each other at a cafe dining table overlooking the ocean.

“To have lunch?” she asked.

Carlton’s brow furrowed.

“Okay, maybe you weren’t wondering.”

“What’s wrong, Carlton? You look really tense.”

“It’s this case,” he lied. “The Orrison murder.”

“Oh, right. You’ve been working with Shawn. I’m surprised you haven’t already strangled him to death and called me to help you dispose of the body.” Juliet chuckled. Then the grin dropped off her face. “Oh God, you didn’t-”

“Spencer is fine. He’s been a serious pain in my ass, but thankfully I have the patience of a saint.”

“That’s what they say about you,” Juliet said. “Carlton Lassiter, patron saint of patience.”

The server arrived to take their order. Juliet ordered a salad and an ice tea. Remembering Shawn’s delicious looking fruity drink from last night, Carlton settled on a virgin pina colada.

“My quack therapist has strong opinions about drinking before noon,” he explained.

“You’re still seeing him?” Juliet said.

“You sound surprised.”

“No, I’m glad. The therapy must be working. You haven’t pulled a gun on a victim or witness all month. I just thought your court appointed sessions ran out awhile ago.”

“They did. I’ve been paying this charlatan out of pocket.” Carlton looked uncomfortable. He fiddled with his shirt sleeves, rolling them up tighter. “He’s been...helping me work through some things.”

“Oh?”

“Personal things.”

“Ah.”

When Carlton didn’t say anything else, an awkward silence stretched between them.

Eventually Carlton sighed. “Dr. Sinclaire wants me to open up more to the people in my life. Specifically to my friends.”

“Carlton. I’m honored.” Juliet touched her chest. She looked a little misty eyed. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Carlton fidgeted. “This stuff doesn’t come easily to me.”

“Take your time.” Juliet touched his hand.

“Okay. Well. Here’s something.” Carlton took a deep breath. “You remember me telling you that my mother got remarried a few years back? She and Althea had been living together for nearly a decade already. It was obvious what they were to each other, but I never accepted their relationship.”

Julie nodded.

“But then they got married, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. My mom was in a romantic relationship with a woman. A woman who made her happier than my dad had ever made her. And I’m not proud of this, O’Hara, but I was terrible to them. I said some truly awful things.”

“Because of your...conservative values?” Juliet asked.

“I used to think that. But lately I’ve begun to understand the real reasons for my anger. See, my mother wasn’t always such a big advocate for gay rights. I grew up hearing all kinds of crap about how homosexuals were going to burn in hell, mostly from my mother’s own mouth.”

“She must have been in denial,” Juliet said.

“Right. I know that now,” Carlton said. “But how does that help her fourteen year old son after he kisses a boy at camp, then spends the next two decades being crushed under a tidal wave of Irish Catholic guilt?”

Carlton hadn’t meant to say so much. He took a shaky breath, looking out at the ocean to avoid meeting his partner’s gaze.

“Oh Carlton.” Juliet folded her hands around his fists. “That must have been awful.”

It was. Despite all the work he’d done with his therapist, Carlton was still carving through the walls of repression and guilt. He might never clear away all the rubble. A lifetime of trying to be a good person by his mother’s strict standards had shaped Carlton into a rigid, uptight, somewhat fragile man, and it would take more than a few months of therapy to change that.

But so what? He could never say all of that to Juliet. It would look like he was fishing for sympathy.

Carlton would rather drive a Prius.

“It’s no excuse for the way I treated my mother. I’m sure it took a lot of courage for her to go public with Althea. I can’t resent her just because I don’t have the guts.”

“Your anger is totally understandable. But you know, society is a lot more progressive now. I think people would be supportive if you wanted date men. I would, anyway.”

Carlton smiled. “Thank you, O’Hara. I appreciate that.”

“I’m just happy you opened up to me. And! If you ever want to talk about boys, I’m your girl.”

“Well.” Carlton cleared his throat. “There is a guy.”

Juliet raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Maybe he’s just a shameless flirt, but I think he might actually be interested in me.”

“Do you like him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. When Spencer and I were at the bar last night- What?”

He’d asked ‘what’ because of Juliet’s expression. Her mouth had dropped open and her eyes gone wide.

“Oh my God, it’s Shawn. You have a crush on Shawn.”

Carlton stammered. “What? No!”

“This makes so much sense. That’s why you always get so flustered around him.”

“I don’t get flustered.”

“And you’re always staring at his butt.”

That was harder for Carlton to deny. Shawn was the most annoying, immature person Carlton had ever met, but he did have a nice butt.

“O’Hara!” Carlton snapped. “I wasn’t talking about Shawn.”

“Oh.” Juliet frowned. “Are you sure? Because there’s no shame in falling for his roguish charms. We’ve all been there.”

“I’m a hundred percent sure.”

It was true. Carlton hadn’t been talking about Shawn. That didn’t mean he’d never thought about it.

Shawn knew how to piss Carlton off. The way he treated everything like a game, the way he effortlessly solved case after case, the way he gloated afterward. It annoyed Carlton beyond words. But part of that annoyance was because Carlton couldn’t help the flicker of attraction he felt for the man.

When Shawn pranced around like an idiot and still managed to look sexy, that pissed Carlton off more than anything.

Not that the attraction was purely physical, either. Shawn was one of only a few people in the world who could make Carlton laugh. And it was hard to explain the squeeze of affection Carlton felt in his chest whenever Shawn did something unbearably stupid.

Every time Shawn wandered into a dangerous situation, which happened far too often, Carlton got to rush in and save him. It made him feel like a hero. A brave knight riding in to rescue the damsel.

But it would never work out, because Shawn was...Shawn. He was loud, untrustworthy, a total buffoon, and probably straight.

Carlton had put that thought to rest a long time ago.

He blinked and straightened up as the server approached the table with their drinks on a tray.

The pina colada was frothy and sweet, but Carlton found himself regretting his choice to make it a virgin. Alcohol would have done wonders to knock out the nasty headache budding between his eyes.

Carlton's eyes widened as a thought struck him.

“He didn’t drink,” he said.

“”Who?” Juliet asked.

“The victim. Jesse Orrison’s friend said he doesn’t drink alcohol. I thought that meant the perp had forced him to drink, but-”

“Maybe the poison wasn’t meant for him,” Juliet said.

“Exactly! If the poisoner knew Jesse didn’t drink, the wine must have been meant for Hovat.”

“This is huge.”

“And we didn’t need any psychic mumbo jumbo to figure it out. I can’t wait to rub Spencer’s big stupid nose in it.”

\---

They called Shawn right away, but of course he kept them waiting. Chief Vick, Juliet and Carlton were already assembled in Vick’s office when Shawn finally came ambling in.

Carlton barely made it through his explanation about how the poison had likely been meant for Hovat, not Orrison, when Shawn launched into one of his ‘episodes’. So much for rubbing his nose in it.

“I’m sensing...straps. Some kind of strappy garment. I can see it in my mind’s eye,” Shawn said.

“Suspenders?” Juliet guessed.

“No, no, not that. It could be...is it..Lassie’s weird dude lingerie?”

“They’re sock garters,” Carlton quickly corrected.

“Still weird, though,” Shawn said.

“Oh, come on. O’Hara, Chief, will you please tell him that sock garters are a completely normal article of clothing?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know anyone wore those anymore,” Chief Vick said.

“My grandpa does,” O’Hara added unhelpfully.

“Wait! It’s not the garters!” Shawn said. “It’s something else. I’m seeing a tag of some kind. A collar? Yes! It’s definitely a collar.”

“The victim was wearing a dog collar at the time of death,” Juliet said.

“Great. As usual, Spencer brings us information we already-”

Shawn cut him off with a loud bark. He panted, looking like an idiot with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Then he barked again, pounced on Carlton and tried to lick the his face. 

Carlton grabbed the back of Shawn’s shirt and yanked him back.

“Bad dog.”

The way Shawn wheezed as his shirt collar pressed against his throat was comically similar to the sound of a dog who’s leash is yanked.

“Mr. Spencer, I think we’ve had enough of the theatrics,” Chief Vick said.

“Man,” Shawn whined. “I didn’t even get to hump Lassie’s leg yet.”

“And you never will,” Carlton said. Although he’d be lying to say he didn’t linger over the thought of Shawn straddling and grinding against his leg, preferably while making out.

“We all know that Jesse Orrison was Hovat’s submissive, or ‘pet’,” Chief Vick said. “Is that what you’re talking about?”

“Yes. No. There’s something else. Hovat has other pets, a whole bunch of them, and not the furry kind. Well, I don’t know, maybe some of them are furries, that’s not really my business. But they’re not dogs and cats- unless their fursona is a dog or-”

“Spencer,” Carlton warned.

“They’re dudes, is what I mean. Dudes who wear Hovat’s collar and do kinky sex stuff with him. The spirits are whispering a name to me. January Delgado. They used to be one of Hovat’s pets, but they crossed him somehow. Hovat made them pay for it.”

“That would give them a motive for trying to murder Hovat,” Carlton said. “We’ve got to talk to this January person. Come on, Spencer. Heel.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woop this chapter is a mess, sorry. also there's a reference to Garfield the Deals Warlock that super won't land if you dont know TAZ

The address they found for January Delgato was a run down brick apartment building in the bad part of town. The elevator was out of order, so Shawn and Carlton were out of breath by the time they climbed four stories of stairs. The walls and ceiling splotched with water damage. The stench of cat urine was suffocating in the narrow hallway.

Outside of apartment 12B, Carlton withdrew his badge from his jacket, but Shawn grabbed his arm before he could rap it against the door.

“Undercover,” Shawn said.

“We’re not undercover,” Carlton reminded him.

“Who is January more likely to talk to? A psychic and his handsome side-kick, or the nice gay couple who just moved into the building?”

“I’m not your sidekick,” Carlton said. “If anything, you’re my sidekick.”

“I can’t do this with you right now. And you’re missing the point. If we want January to tell us anything, we don’t want to scare them.”

“Speak for yourself.” But Carlton tucked the badge back into his jacket before knocking on the door.

No answer.

After a minute, Carlton scowled and knocked again, this time much harder. Down the hall, someone peeked out through a chain-latched door to glare at him. A dog barked from an apartment at the other end of the hall.

At last the door to apartment 12B swung open.

January Delgato stood with a hand on their hip, favoring their visitors with a death stare rivaling Carlton’s. Their short pajama shorts and tank top hung off a malnourished frame. Shaggy purple hair fell over one eye, and January huffed it out of their face.

“What?” they demanded.

“Hiiiii,” Shawn sing-singed. “We just moved in upstairs and we’re trying to meet our neighbors. I’m Shawn Spencer, Psychic, and this is my partner Lassifrass.”

“Carlton Lassiter,” Carlton said.

“He never likes the pet names I give him,” Shawn said with a pout.

January just stared at them.

“This is usually the part where you tell us your name,” Shawn said. “But I won’t rush you.”

“Well, since this is the top floor of the building and there’s no way you could live upstairs, you’re obviously running some kind of scam. Thanks for waking me up though, assholes.”

January went to slam the door, but Carlton blocked it.

“Wait. We’re actually detectives with the SBPD, investigating the death of Jesse Orrison.”

“I don’t believe you,” January grunted, pushing hard to try and shut the door.

“You’re January Delgato, right?” Shawn asked. “The spirit of Jesse Orrison reached out to me from beyond the veil, he whispered your name. He says you can help. He says you know all about Richard Hovat.”

January stopped trying to push the door shut. They looked at Shawn with wide eyes. 

“Richard killed Jesse?”

“It’s our going theory,” Shawn lied. “But even Jesse’s spirit isn’t sure. He was poisoned.”

“I want to see a badge,” January said.

Carlton showed them his badge, and Shawn flashed his Psych business card, which January didn’t seem especially impressed by. They didn’t even remark on the cool metallic embossing or the little pineapple graphic.

“Come in.”

January’s apartment looked like something from an episode of hoarders. Cardboard boxes, empty take out containers, magazines and bulging trash bags filled most of the living room in massive heaps. Under the mess, Shawn could barely make out a kitchen table. The backs of chairs stuck out like buoys in a sea of trash.

A relatively clear path led to a sofa and chair arranged around a television. Another path branched off to a small kitchen, which Shawn was grateful he couldn’t see better, and a third path led to the bedroom. If there was a bathroom, the door must have been blocked off.

Maybe January used the ensuite bathroom, though regrettably Shawn spotted a few suspicious bottles of yellow liquid lying around.

“Jesus, Spencer, his-” Carlton stopped and looked at January. “Sorry, what are your pronouns?”

“I identify as non-binary, so they-them is fine.”

“Thanks. Spencer, their apartment is even more disgusting than your office.”

“I can hear you, you know,” January said. “I’m standing right here.”

“You’re right, that was rude. I should address you directly,” Lassiter said. “Your apartment is a putrid dump and you should be ashamed of living this way.”

“Lassie! We’re guests in this house. I’m sorry Jan, I can’t take him anywhere,” Shawn said.

January sighed and dropped onto the couch. “It’s fine. I know this place is bad. The last couple years have been really tough.”

“Because of Richard,” Shawn guessed.

A huge orange cat landed daintily on the back of the couch like the world’s fattest gymnast and poured itself into January’s lap. January stroked the cat’s back, and the room filled with a rusty purr.

“Richard kicked things off, sure,” January said. “But that was just the beginning. My so-called “friends” all turned their backs on me when everything went down.”

“Even Jesse?”

January pursed their lips. “Jesse trusted Richard. I can’t blame him. I used to trust Richard, too.”

“Until the altercation,” Carlton said. “What happened? Infidelity?”

January glanced up at Shawn, as if trying to gauge what he knew. Or what Jesse’s spirit might have told him.

Shawn spotted a photo half buried in the heaps. January and Jesse with their arms around each other. It clicked into place.

He put his fingers to his temples. “Jesse has a message for you. He wants you to know that he’s sorry. He says he should have chosen you over Richard and that his time with you was the happiest in his life.”

January’s expression crumpled. They buried their face against their cat’s furry body as sobs wracked their thin body.

“Nice work, Spencer,” Carlton said. “You want to dropkick the cat out the window while you’re at it?”

“I’m okay,” January said through sniffles. “I just...I thought Jesse hated me.”

“Why would you think that?” Shawn asked.

“When I left, Richard talked crap about me to anyone who would listen. He made callout posts on social media about how I was a toxic person, how I used my mental illness to manipulate him. He even hunted down some problematic posts I made when I was a religious twelve year old on Myspace.”

“We’ve all said stupid things on Myspace,” Shawn said. “Personally, I used to run a Good Charlotte fan page. The gifsets were so glittery.”

Carlton’s mouth quirked into a confused frown.

“It was a nightmare,” January said. “All my friends blocked me on the internet and avoided me in real life. I was in a dark place. The only thing that kept me going was Warlock. If I were gone, who would take care of him?”

“Warlock?” Carlton asked.

“Her cat,” Shawn said. “Surname Garfield?”

January gave a watery smile and wiped the tears out of their eyes. “Middle name ‘the Deals’,” they confirmed.

Shawn fistbumped them.

“Oh, sorry Lassie, you’re probably confused. Garfield the Deals Warlock is a reference to-”

“Something stupid, I’m sure,” Carlton interrupted. “I think we’re finished here.”

January looked around through swollen, red-rimmed eyes. “Where did Warlock go?”

Shawn looked around as well.

The front door was standing open. Either himself or Carlton must have forgotten to close it when they came in.

Shawn shot a guilty glance back at January. “Warlock is an indoor-outdoor cat, right?”

* * *

“This is a waste of time,” Carlton complained.

“Warlock is the only thing Jan has to live for, and we lost him,” Shawn said.

“We didn’t lose anything. The cat ran away. Can you blame it? That apartment is a hole and it’s owner is a whacko.”

“I wouldn’t say that. About Jan, I mean. The apartment was a hole.”

Carlton sighed. “I can’t believe that ball of lard made so much distance.”

They had already searched the entire apartment building, fjording the treacherous stairs a second time and making their way along narrow hallways reeking of smoke while calling Warlock’s name.

In the lobby, Shawn’s keen eye had picked up a few key details. Muggy heat. Stand fan buzzing noisily. And the final disheartening sight: the front door propped open with a brick.

So now he and Carlton were walking together down the sidewalk, eyes peeled for a runaway orange blob.

“Do you think January did it?” Carlton asked.

Shawn closed his eyes and touched his temples. He shook his head. “Nah.”

“They have motive,” Carlton pointed out.

“This Hovat guy sounds like a real scumbag. I bet there are a ton of people who’d like to off him.”

“Great. So this is a dead-end.”

“Not necessarily.”

“What are you thinking?”

Shawn hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”

Carlton rolled his eyes.

“But I sense that there’s some connection. I’m not seeing it yet, but I’ll find it. Just like I found January’s cat. Boo-yah!”

He pointed at the furry orange lump crouched in a doorway up ahead.

Warlock must have heard him. He turned toward the two men, yellow eyes wide, then bolted directly into the street.

“Crap,” Carlton said.

A white sedan was coming down the street fast. It barreled toward Warlock with no sign of slowing down.

Without hesitation, Carlton lunged forward. His long-legged strides quickly caught him up with the cat. He leaped between it and the oncoming car.

The sedan’s tires screeched. It came to a stop just inches from Carlton, who slammed his palm on the hood.

“Watch it, dipship! I should have your licence revoked!” Carlton waved his badge menacingly at the driver. At least it wasn’t his gun.

Shawn scooped up the cat. Warlock was trembling, suddenly without the independent spirit which had moved him to run away, and he huddled gratefully in Shawn’s arms.

On their way back to January’s apartment, Shawn looked wonderingly at Carlton. “You saved the cat.”

“Yeah,” Carlton said. “So?”

“You don’t get it. There’s this book- it’s like the screenwriter’s handbook- it’s called Save the Cat. It says you can make your protagonist a total dick as long as they do one likeable thing. Saving a cat is the classic example,” Shawn said.

“So you’re saying I’m a total dick?”

“Well, not a _total_ dick. A total dick wouldn’t have jumped in front of a car to save someone else’s cat.” Shawn mulled it over for a second. “This is going to sound crazy, but I feel like the universe has been trying to send me a message lately, but it’s like…the signal’s not coming in clear. It’s all scrambled, static-y. But it’s something about you, Lassie. Something I should know.”

Carlton lifted one eyebrow. “What’s so crazy about that, ‘psychic’ detective? I thought the universe was supposed to send you signals.”

Before Shawn could answer, Carlton’s phone rang.

Carlton retrieved it from his pocket. He raised a finger, gesturing for Shawn to wait.

“What is it, O’Hara?”

Carlton listened. He frowned.

“Got it. Thanks.” He folded his phone and put it back in his pocket.

“What?” Shawn asked.

“O’Hara has been scouring Santa Barbara for the liquor store or vineyard where that bottle of wine came from. She finally got a hit back, and guess who’s card was used to purchase that bottle? We’re going to have another word with January Delgato. Down at the station, this time.”

“Sorry, Warlock," Shawn said. "I think you’re about to become a ward of the state.”


	7. Chapter 7

Later that day, Shawn slouched against the wall in his dad’s kitchen. Sunset slanted through the window and illuminated the salad bar his dad had set out across the counters. It all looked thoroughly unappetizing. He didn’t even have bacon bits.

“Something about it just seems fishy,” Shawn was telling his dad. “January says their card was stolen and they canceled it as soon as they found out.”

“So he bought the wine and then canceled the card,” Henry said as he tonged spinach leaves into his bowl.

“They. January is non-binary.”

“Okay,  _ they  _ canceled the card. It’s the oldest trick in the book. She probably knew the cops would link the purchase back to her eventually.”

“Dad, your pronoun game is weak.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just not used to this stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“All of this LGBT-whatever. Back in my day, we only had homosexuals, and I can’t even get my head around that. Why would any guy want to sleep with another guy? Men are so...hairy.” Henry made a face.

“Wow. I don’t even know where to start with that. First of all, there was never ‘just homosexuals’. Trans people, bisexuals, and all the other letters existed even when you didn’t know about them. Freddy Mercury was bi, you know,” Shawn said.

“That’s interesting. I didn’t know that.”

“And yes, men are hairy. But sometimes dude hair is sexy. Like salt and pepper around the temples, or a faint dusting of arm hair, or a sweet sternbush.”

Henry looked at him strangely. Shawn turned away with a ‘tch’.

“Shawn, don’t get defensive. If you’re...no matter what you are, it’s alright with me.”

“We are not talking about this.” Shawn took a bite out of a snappea pod. To change the subject, he said, “Hey, did you know Lassiter wears sock-garters?”

“When I said your preferences are alright with me, that wasn’t an invitation to tell me about Lassiter’s underwear.”

“So it  _ is _ a sex thing,” Shawn said. “Everyone’s been trying to tell me that they’re a totally normal thing to wear.”

“They are,” Henry said. “I used to wear sock-garters back in my detective days.”

“Ew, dad! Why did you tell me that? I don’t want to hear about my father’s lingerie.”

“Who’s wearing lingerie? I thought we were talking about those straps for keeping your socks up.”

“Don’t even try lying to me,” Shawn said through a mouthful of snappea. “If sock garters aren’t lingerie, why are they so sexy, huh? Explain that, smart guy.”

Henry threw his hands up in exasperation, then proceeded to squeeze a metric fuckton of dressing over his salad.

Shawn wrinkled his nose. “Is that blue cheese?”

“Yep.”

“You don’t like blue cheese.”  
“I love blue cheese.”

“And what’s with the rabbit food, anyway?”

“I’m trying to eat healthier. Something you should try sometime.” Henry poked Shawn’s doughy stomach with the tongs.

Shawn swatted them away. “Since when do you care about eating healthy?”

“You don’t know everything about me, Shawn. People can surprise you.”

Shawn opened his mouth to say something snippy, but stopped dead when his dad’s words knocked something loose in his messy attic of a brain. The static cleared, and Shawn knew exactly what the universe had been trying to tell him.

“I know that look,” Henry said. “Something I said helped you solve the case, right?”

“No. It’s something else. I gotta go.” Shawn gave his dad a friendly slap on the back as he passed on his way out of the kitchen. “And if you’re trying to eat healthy, I’d check the calories on that dressing.”

Shawn was already out the door by the time his dad peered at the back of the dressing bottle. But he did hear Henry’s muttered “Dammit.” before the door shut behind him.

* * *

By the time Shawn pulled up on his bike outside of Lassiter’s apartment building, the sun had set and stolen the day’s heat with it. The palm lined street was peaceful in spite of the traffic shushing past on the road. After hanging his helmet strap from his handlebars, Shawn went in, found Lassiter’s apartment, and knocked on the door.

A muffled television voice fell silent as Lassiter paused. Footsteps approached the door.

Only then did Shawn realize he had no idea what he was going to say. His mind had been buzzing the whole drive over, but he hadn’t arranged his thoughts into any coherent fashion.

That was fine. Winging it was his speciality. The important thing was to be sensitive and respectful.

Lassiter opened the door, and Shawn greeted him with an open palm directly pressed against the detective’s face.

“I just need a quick readin- arghh!” Shawn wailed as Lassiter wrenched his arm behind his back.

Lassiter pushed Shawn back into the hall, followed him out and shut the door.

“What do you want, Spencer?”

“It’s the message from the universe. While I was playing bunny rabbit family with my dad, I suddenly realized how I can pick up the signal better.”

Shawn ignored the strange look Lassiter gave him over ‘bunny rabbit family’. Instead of touching his own head like he normally did during his psychic visions, Shawn pressed his fingers against Lassiter’s graying temples. Shawn thought he was about to have his arms ripped out of their sockets, but surprisingly, Lassiter allowed it.

“Are you trying to read my mind?” Lassiter asked.

“Kinda.”

“What am I thinking now?”

“You’re thinking...that I’m too adorable to be mad at.”

The smirk fell off Lassiter’s face. “No I wasn’t.”

“Okay, whatever, just try to clear your mind. Can you do that? Close your eyes.”

Lassiter glared at him.

“Please?”

After an exaggerated eye roll, Lassiter finally closed his eyes and blew out a slow exhale.

“Good. That’s perfect, the signal is coming in much clearer now. I’m getting a word. Bifocals? No, that’s not right. The Lassie I know has the perfect twenty-twenty vision and unquestioning patriotism of a bald eagle. Maybe it’s...Bicycle? Bipartisanship? Bicarbonates?”

“You don’t know any of those words,” Lassiter said.

“I know ‘bicycle’,” Shawn said. “In fact, I want to ride my bicycle, bicycle, bicycle. Wait, that’s it! Freddie Mercury is lending me his power from beyond the veil. The signal is intensifying! Let me just tune the station a little.”

Shawn twisted Lassiter’s ears like radio knobs, and that was a bridge too far.

Lassiter shoved Shawn away.

With a dramatic gasp, Shawn stumbled backward and thumped against the opposite wall. He touched his temple. “Lassie. Why didn’t you tell me that you’re bisexual?”

Wide eyed, Lassiter glanced up and down the hall. Nobody in sight. He strode up to Shawn. Standing close enough that he practically had Shawn pinned to the wall, Lassiter murmured low so only they could hear.

“I know it’s not your style, Spencer, but a little discretion would be nice.”

“Okay, then I’ll talk in code. How long have you been a bicarbonate, and why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were friends.”

“Pansexual, actually. And I don’t owe you anything.”

“What’s the difference between bi and pan?”

Lassiter opened his mouth to launch into an explanation, then stopped and frowned. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But the pan flag looks nicer.”

The neighbor who’s wall Shawn had slumped against poked his head out of the door. Lassiter’s death glare drove him back inside.

“I can’t believe this,” Shawn said. “So all this time, it was just me you didn’t like?”

“I’ve been perfectly transparent about my dislike for you,” Lassiter said.

“Man,” Shawn whined. “I thought that was just our thing. I push your buttons, you get pissed and push me against a wall, classic sexual tension. Why are your ears turning red, Lassie? Are you going to push me against this wall right now? God, that’s hot.”

“Stop it, Spencer. Stop screwing around. Not everything is a joke, alright?”

“I’m being dead serious right now. If you’re really deep dish pan pizza, why haven’t we done the ol’-” Shawn finished the sentence with a hand gesture.

The hand gesture went on for a long time. Lassiter watched it with deepening confusion and eventually grabbed both of Shawn’s hands to stop them.

“Just because someone is attracted to men doesn’t mean they’re automatically attracted to  _ you, _ ” Lassiter said.

Shawn stared at him like that was a foreign concept.

Lassiter sighed. “Also, you’re straight.”

Shawn psh’d. “Me? Straight? That’s pretty poor detective work, Lassie.”

“Carlton? Is everything okay?” a voice came from behind Lassiter.

Shawn leaned to peer around him.

Drew Dawes was standing inside Lassiter’s apartment.

So that was why Lassiter pushed Shawn out into the hall to talk instead of dragging him inside. In retrospect, Shawn recognised Drew’s slight southern twang as the voice he heard through the door- not the television. And the same Subaru was parked on the street outside Lassiter’s apartment as Shawn had seen in Drew’s driveway.

“Oh. It’s you,” Drew said when he saw Shawn.

“Bitch, you are  _ not  _ standing in my man’s apartment,” Shawn said.

“Honeybear,” Lassiter said through gritted teeth, fingers tightening around Shawn’s arm. “Remember what the counselor said. I’m allowed to have my own friends without you feeling threatened.”

He said the word ‘threatened’ as if it were a threat itself.

Shawn forced a thin smile. “Of course, snookums. I just didn’t expect you to befriend the first milquetoast suburban soccer mom to flash his pearly whites at you.”

“I see what Big Bear Burton was talking about,” Drew said. “That’s a nasty jealous streak you’ve got there.”

Lassiter’s brow furrowed. “Big Bear Burton?”

“Can you give us some privacy?” Shawn snapped at Drew. “I just need a minute with my boyfriend. Then you can go back to home-wrecking.”

Drew obediently closed the door, leaving Lassiter and Shawn alone again in the hallway.

“So I’m not good enough for you, but Susan Serandon from the Rocky Horror Picture Show is?” Shawn hissed.

“Stop acting like I chose him over you,” Lassiter asked. “You were never on the table.”

“I could have been. I could have been bent over the table. I could have sat on the edge with my legs wrapped around your waist. But you would rather go back in there and rock the coop with that guy. Fertilize his eggs. Marinade his thighs.”

“Jesus, Spencer, what the hell are you talking about?”

“He’s the momma hen. Keep up, Lassie.”

“I’m not going in there to marinade anything, except maybe some steaks for tomorrow. But if I was, it’s really none of your business, Spencer.”

“Fine,” Shawn said, shoving past Lassiter. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He forced himself not to turn around as he walked down the hall, but he could feel Lassiter watching him go.


	8. Chapter 8

“Please, buddy,” Shawn said. “I really need you on this one.”

“That’s what you always say,” Gus said.

“And it’s always true.”

Last time they were here, Buzz had allowed them through the front door. It wouldn’t be so easy this time. They had hiked up the beach to arrive on the other side of the mansion. Shawn shook the sand out of one sneaker before slipping it back on, reached up to grab the patio railing with both hands and hauled himself over.

He grinned at Gus from Richard Hovat’s beach-side pool deck.

“That was super easy,” Shawn said. “Practically an invitation to come on in.”

Gus made no move to follow. He remained stubbornly on the beach with his arms crossed and regarded Shawn with a skeptical look.

“I’m sure whoever lives here wouldn’t see it that way.”

“Don’t worry, this is just ol’ Dick’s place. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. I mean, he’s a total asshat, and maybe he does hurt people, but only if it’s consensual I think? And he’s not even home.”

Gus didn’t budge.

Shawn flounced in frustration. “Come on, Gus! Is this about your homophobia again?”

“No, Shawn, this is about my breaking-and-entering-phobia.”

“There really should be a better word for that.”

Shawn looked around the deck. His eyes fixed on a shell-shaped light fixture on the wall beside the sliding glass door. Inside the frosted glass was a conspicuous shadowy blot.

Shawn crossed the deck and reached into the open top of the light fixture. Triumphant, he raised the key for Gus to see.

“What did I tell you? Hovat might as well be rolling out the red carpet for us.”

“Shawn, put that back. Shawn!” Gus hissed.

But Shawn had already unlocked the door and slipped inside.

He stood in the master bedroom, looking around. There were some notable changes since the last time he’d been in the room. For one thing, there was no longer a corpse on the bed. The sheets had been changed. More clutter on the dresser. The wine bottle and glasses were gone, replaced by an assortment of prescription pill bottles.

Gus entered the bedroom and carefully closed the sliding glass door. He surveyed the room with a hunted look.

“I already told you, nobody’s home,” Shawn said. “Why is it so hard for you to trust me?”

“Just hurry up.”

Shawn t’ched. He picked up one of the bottles off the bedside table and inspected the label.

“What is Temazepam?”

“Prescription sleeping pill. That’s heavy duty stuff.”

“Maybe Dick was more upset about his partner’s death than he lets on.”

“Or the guilt is keeping him up at night,” Gus said. “We’re inside a murderer’s house, Shawn. We’re going to be next.”

Shawn wandered over to the dresser to inspect some framed photos. A few were of a person in a purple fox mascot costume- presumably Richard, since he appeared in all the suited pics- with his arm around various other fursuiters. Shawn wondered if Woody knew this guy. Or was it racist--speciest?--to assume that all furries knew each other?

Some photos featured Richard and his partners unmasked. One in particular caught Shawn’s eye, and he stopped to pick it up.

“No way.”

“What?”

Shawn flipped the photo for Gus to see.

“That can’t be right,” Gus said. “That dude hates Richard.”

From outside the bedroom came the sound of a door opening and shutting. Both Shawn and Gus froze.

Shawn rushed to the sliding door without bothering to set down the photo. He and Gus converged and they both went for the handle, but the door stuck. They strained with all their strength against the door.

Footsteps drew closer to the bedroom.

In desperation, Shawn threw himself under the bed. Gus wriggled in after, jabbing Shawn with each elbow and knee. Shawn slapped at him and he slapped back.

They stopped fighting when feet appeared in the doorway. Two pairs of feet.

“You made the right choice, coming back to me. You never should have run away,” Richard’s voice said.

“I know.”

Shawn recognized the slight twang in the second speaker’s voice. He thwacked Gus excitedly on the arm. “That’s Drew,” he hissed.

Gus shushed him.

“I really shouldn’t take you back. Disloyalty is a horrible quality in a pet,” Richard said.

“I’m sorry, master,” Drew said. “I swear I’ll never do it again.”

A loud slap rang out. Drew whimpered.

“Turn around,” Richard ordered.

Obediently, the second set of shoes turned to face away. There was a small sound, almost imperceptible. The whisper of the leather collar being threaded tight.

“Now take off your clothes.”

Drew’s cornflower blue and white checked button up shirt fell to the ground, shortly followed by his jeans and underwear. Drew toed off his sensible oxfords.

Even without looking, Shawn could feel Gus’s glare boring into him.

“I’m gonna kill you, Shawn,” he whispered.

“Disobedient pets who run away have to be punished,” Richard said. “Get on the bed.”

The bed springs creaked and Drew’s bare feet and legs disappeared from view.

Another leathery hiss made Shawn’s stomach churn. He thought he knew what that sound meant.

A moment later his suspicions were confirmed by a thwack and Drew’s yelp. The meaty smack of a belt against bare skin repeated again and again, each time followed by a pained cry from Drew. Each cry sounded more genuine than the last, filled with pain and fear.

Shawn was on the verge of coming out from under the bed and yelling at Richard to stop when the bedsprings squalled.

Drew’s feet reappeared.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Richard snapped. “Bad dog!”

The crack of the belt rang out again. Then another crack- this one different. A sound Shawn couldn’t immediately place.

Richard collapsed to the ground. Shawn found himself staring into the man’s wide, unseeing eyes. Blood pooled on the wood floor under Richard’s head.

Shawn clapped a hand over Gus’s mouth to muffle his scream, covering his own with his other hand for good measure. He certainly felt like screaming.

The room was silent aside from Drew’s ragged breathing. After another moment, Drew gathered up his clothes off the ground and rushed out of the bedroom.

Gus and Shawn rolled out from under the bed.

This time the door slid open with no problem, and the two murder witnesses slipped out into the sunny Santa Barbara day.


	9. Chapter 9

Gus drove Shawn to the police station but refused to get out of the car.  _ No, Shawn. It’s one thing to act like you psychically divined some clue you got from looking at an order sheet, but we saw a man get murdered. I’m not gonna purjor myself like that. _

Shawn went into the station alone. It was bustling as usual with cops coming and going or doing paperwork at their desks. Nobody seemed to notice Shawn’s arrival.

Shawn strutted down the center of the room, fingers raised to his temples.

“Whoah! This vision...it’s massive! A whopper of the most flame broiled degree.”

Carlton was coming down the hall toward Shawn, coffee in hand.

When most of the eyes in the station had turned to him, Shawn continued. “I’m seeing Richard Hovat. But he’s not alone, no, there’s a man with him. He’s-”

“Drew Dawes,” Carlton said.

Shawn’s surprise must have registered on his face.

“O’Hara is interrogating him now,” Carlton explained. “He turned himself in for the murder of Richard Hovat. He’s claiming self-defence.”

Shawn closed his gaping mouth and tilted his head to the side, considering.

From his vantage point under the bed, he hadn’t been able to see exactly what had happened between the two men. It was possible that Drew felt his life was threatened. Richard certainly had been laying into him, and Drew would have the welts to prove it.

But wasn’t that part of the roleplay? Drew had gone willingly to Hovat’s house and obeyed all his orders without complaint.

“That isn’t the whole story,” Shawn said. “I specifically didn’t hear a safeword in my vision. It’s crystal clear.”

Carlton’s brow furrowed. “That’s their safeword? Crystal clear?”

“No, the vision is clear. I can see and hear everything almost as if I were there in person. Drew didn’t even try to get Richard to stop. One minute he’s letting Richard go to town on him, the next second, bam! Cold blooded murder.”

All at once, Carlton’s expression became closed to Shawn. His blue eyes darkened to the color of riptide.

“I see.”

Now that Shawn was thinking about it, Drew Dawes had probably committed the first murder as well. Momma hen would protect his chicks at any cost, even if that meant killing the wolf in the henhouse, Richard Hovat. Unfortunately, Drew made a miscalculation. Jesse had claimed not to drink, but that was a lie, and the innocent pet had wound up drinking the poison meant for his master.

With his plan thwarted, Drew must have resorted to a more direct attack against Richard.

Still spinning the parlor room speech in his mind, Shawn slapped Carlton excitedly on the shoulder.

“We have to go down there and warn Jules that she’s dealing with a real sicko,” Shawn said.

“Right. Let’s do that.”

Carlton slung an arm around Shawn’s shoulders and steered him down the stairs.

Through the interrogation room window, Shawn saw Juliet sitting across from Drew Dawes. The man’s eyes were red and swollen from crying.

When Shawn reached for the doorknob to enter the interrogation room, Carlton jerked him away. He flung Shawn up against the wall.

Shawn’s stomach leaped into his throat.

This was what he’d been fantasizing about non-stop for the past few days, but it was all wrong. Carlton looked furious.

“Lassie-”

“Shut up.”

Shawn closed his mouth.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing? I’m not an idiot, Spencer. For years I’ve watched you pull this exact same crap with O’Hara and Guster and anyone stupid enough to care about you. If they dare to scrape out a tiny bit of happiness that doesn’t include you, you make damn sure to tear it apart.”

Carlton poked Shawn in the sternum hard enough to hurt. Shawn clutched his chest and stared at Carlton with wide eyes.

“You know that if you relax your grip on somebody for even a second, they’ll run fast, they’ll run far, and you’ll never get them back into your sticky little clutches. They’d escape from you just like that cat escaped from that weirdo’s apartment earlier. Right? So what can you do?”

“I-”

It must have been rhetorical, because Carlton wasn’t done.

“You squeeze them tighter. You get them out of their comfort zones, tear down their self-esteem, make unreasonable demands for their time and money and affection. And God forbid they have any relationships outside of yours! Friends, lovers, family members, they’re all a threat to you, so you drive them away with your lies and inappropriate behavior. You know who else does that?”

Shawn’s mouth was too dry to answer.

“Abusers. Those are all classic abuse tactics,” Carlton said.

Shawn willed himself not to cry. His throat clicked. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears, but he managed to meet Carlton’s gaze steadily.

“I’ve seen you jump through some crazy hoops to alienate people from their loved ones, but this is a new low.”

“I wasn’t lying about the vision,” Shawn said, hating how rough his voice sounded. “Drew didn’t say a safeword.”

“What the hell does that matter? Hovat was a creep. He wouldn’t have stopped no matter what Drew said. I saw the marks of what Hovat did to him.” Carlton’s voice was tight with anger.

“You’re too close to this one, Lassie. You’re lashing out.”

Carlton’s grip tightened around Shawn’s shirt. The fury radiating off him was palpable, his mouth pressed in a tight, angry line.

Abruptly, the rage seemed to drain out of him. He looked tired.

Carlton turned his back on Shawn and crossed to the window, looking in at Drew and Juliet in the interrogation room.

“Get out of here, Spencer.”

“I haven’t told Juliet-”

“I’ll tell her about your vision. The self-defence plea is a matter for the courts, anyway. But who knows? Maybe your testimony will be the nail in Drew’s coffin.”

“Lassie, I…” Shawn swallowed.

He couldn’t think of how to close the gap between them. Even if Carlton had been lashing out, his words stung. They hurt worse because of the ring of truth in them, like a sharp stone hidden inside a snowball.

Shawn delivered a limp pat to Carlton’s back, then headed upstairs.


	10. Chapter 10

Shawn sat hunched over the bar.

The Rainbow Road wasn’t as busy as it had been a couple nights ago. The dance floor was still packed with a sea of bodies, but the bar had thankfully cleared out enough that Shawn could get a stool. He’d only been sipping his drink for a few minutes when someone came up beside him.

“This seat taken?”

“Knock yourself out,” Shawn said without looking up.

The person sat down.

“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” he asked.

Shawn finally glanced up. The man had light brown skin and messy black curls falling over his face, his chin dusted by five o’clock shadow. Eyes underscored by dark circles.

“Sleepless in Santa Barbara. I remember you,” Shawn said. “Anthony, right?”

“That’s me. And you’re the psychic who accused me of murder.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, man. My process can be a little messy. If it helps, you’re no longer the top suspect.”

Anthony laughed. “I appreciate that. Can I buy you a drink?”

Shawn knocked back the rest of his crown and coke. “That would be great.”

Anthony signaled for the bartender. He ordered two crown and cokes, then turned his attention back to Shawn.

“Who is your new top suspect, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I really shouldn’t discuss details of the case,” Shawn said. “On the other hand? Fuck it. We have Drew Dawes in custody down at the SBPD.”

“No.”

“Yep. I have it on good authority that he accidentally killed Jesse while trying to poison Hovat.” Shawn put his fingers to his temples. “The spirits feel very strongly on this matter.”

Shawn’s phone buzzed in his jeans pocket.

“Wow. I mean, I can’t say I’m too surprised. I heard that Drew and Richard used to have a thing but they parted on bad terms.”

“Mmm,” Shawn said. He stared down at the phone in his lap, beneath the bar where it would be harder for anyone to snoop.

The window display read: 1 new text from Lassie.

Shawn almost put the phone away. After a moment’s thought, he flipped the screen open.

_ We need to talk. _

Shawn’s thumbs hesitated over the keypad.

He flipped the phone shut without sending anything back.

“Ex-boyfriend?” Anthony guessed.

“Something like that.” Shawn groaned. “Man. I can’t believe I Shawned things up already.”

“It must have been really bad if you’re using your name as a verb.”

“Beyond bad,” Shawn confirmed, taking a swig of his drink.

“You’ll bounce back. I’m sure the next time you Shawn things up, that word will have a much more positive connotation.”

Shawn knocked back the rest of his drink. “Yeah. Maybe. It could be the word for walking away from an explosion without looking back. OR that’s what they’ll call it when you eat a dozen hot dogs without reverse eating them back up. ‘He really shawned down on those dogs.’”

Anthony chuckled. “That’s the spirit.”

“Thanks, man. I actually feel better now.”

“Awesome. I have to go, but I hope to see you around here again sometime.”

Anthony dug his wallet out of his jacket and flagged the bartender over again. When he pulled out his card, Shawn caught a glimpse of the card in the pocket behind it.

The last half of the embossed cardholder’s name read ‘elgato’.

Shawn’s blood ran cold.

He flashed back to Anthony at the book club, looking sleep deprived and waxy skinned, saying  _ ‘I would never do that. Jesse was my friend.’ _ He flashed back even further to Jesse’s facebook wall, to a picture of Jesse and Anthony with their arms around each other’s waists, Anthony’s head resting on the other man’s shoulder. Shawn hadn’t recognised Anthony at the book club. In the photo, he’d looked different- vital and happy. Like a young man in love.

Shawn’s heart beat hard in his chest, but he tried not to show it. “By the way...how are you holding up with the whole Jesse thing? I hope you’re not taking the loss too hard.”

“To be honest, I didn’t know him that well. We mostly knew each other through Richard.”

Anthony was lying.

A chill raced up Shawn’s spine. He stood up, and the world lurched around him.

He’d only had two drinks. Maybe two crown and cokes on an empty stomach had been enough to get him drunk, but Shawn doubted it.

“I think I’m gonna call my ex,” Shawn said. “Maybe we can patch things up.”

“Good luck.” Anthony’s smile was cooler this time.

Shawn fumbled the phone out of his pocket as he staggered across the bar, following the glowing green ‘EXIT’ sign. The club swooned around him in a sickening spin cycle of shadow and strobing lights.

His eyelids sagged. Sweat stood out on his skin in rainbow colored droplets.

With rubbery fingers, Shawn scrolled through his contacts until he found Lassie’s number and hit ‘call’.

The phone only rang once before Carlton picked up.

“Oh thank God, Lassie. Thank Lassie. Thank  _ you. _ ”

“Spencer? What’s wrong? I can barely hear you.”

Electonica music pounded around Shawn like the world’s worst hangover. It was no wonder Carlton couldn’t hear him. Plus, his voice wasn’t coming out right. A thick slur made his syllables run together.

“I need you to pick me up,” Spencer said, trying to enunciate.

“From where?” Carlton asked.

Shawn slammed into the push bar on the exit and staggered out into the night. He sucked in a deep breath of fresh air.

Quickly, he realized his mistake. Instead of the parking lot awash in acid pink light, Shawn was greeted by an overflowing dumpster against a brick wall.

This was the alleyway behind the Rainbow Road. He had stumbled out of the wrong door.

“Spencer!” Carlton’s voice sounded more distant than the moon.

The phone slipped from Shawn’s hand and clattered across the asphalt.

Shawn bent down to retrieve it, but the world pitched around him. Darkness crowded the edges of his vision.

He stumbled, caught himself against the wall. Tried again for the phone.

Inches from his trembling fingers, a foot stomped down on the phone with a splintering crack.

Shawn looked up.

Anthony stood over him. His eyes were wide. He looked terrified, as if he were the one on the ground with a murderer standing over him.

“It was you,” Shawn slurred.

“I didn’t mean to kill Jesse,” Anthony said. “It was an accident. I just wanted us to be free of that horrible man.”

“Free to be loversh in the…in the nighttime.”

“It’s true. I did love Jesse. Oh, God.” Anthony sniffled and wiped his face with his jacket sleeve.

Shawn managed to get one foot under him and push himself up, bracing against the wall behind him.

“No, no, stay right there please. Just take a little nap. I promise you won’t feel a thing.”

“You drugged me,” Shawn accused.

“I had no choice. I didn’t know you’d moved off of me as a suspect. And even if I had, there was no telling when another one of your visions would put you back on the right track.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Shawn said. The words ran to mush in his mouth. ‘donsh havsh to dosthish’.

Somehow, Anthony understood him. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry.”

Shawn sagged against the wall. He barely felt the rough brickwork scrape his exposed skin.

He couldn’t fight it. His eyelids sagged.

The last thing Shawn saw was Anthony reaching into his coat. A glint of metal. Then his eyelids fell shut like a curtain closing over a theater stage.

“Freeze, scumbag!”

Shawn’s eyelids fluttered open.

A familiar figure stood with his gun drawn at the end of the alleyway, silhouetted by street lamps. “Put down the knife. Slowly! Hands behind your head!”

“Lassie,” Shawn croaked.

Carlton rushed down the alleyway to pin Anthony, twist his arms behind his back and cuff him. Juliet appeared as if by magic, her face swimming out of the darkness just inches from Shawn’s own. She looked pale and drawn with concern.

“Shawn,” she said. “Are you hurt?”

“Just...sleepy,” Shawn said with a drowsy smile.

Juliet was saying something else, but Shawn could barely hear her. It didn’t matter. He was safe now. Lassie was here. Lassie would protect him.

With that comforting thought, Shawn dropped off into unconsciousness.


	11. Chapter 11

Later, Shawn found out that Carlton had heard the throbbing dance music over the phone and figured out where Shawn was calling from. It was pure luck that he and Juliet had been in the neighborhood. They’d run through several stoplights and arrived just in time to save Shawn's life.

The only injuries he'd sustained were some nasty scrapes on his back from sliding down the wall. Within a day, even those were scabbing over.

Anthony had given a full confession to the murder of Jesse Orrison, as well as facing charges for the drugging and attempted murder. Drew Dawes was out on bail.

Shawn considered it a pretty good end to the case. Messy? Sure. But he’d solved it in the end.

Shawn sipped his pina colada, thinking about how someone once told him the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, which, if true, might mean that he had a problem.

He couldn’t help himself. The drinks at the Rainbow Road were just too freaking good.

Someone stood at the edge of his vision.

“Can I buy your next drink?” Carlton asked.

Shawn smiled without looking up. “Only if you pinky promise not to slip me a roofie and try to murder me in the back alley."

“It’s a deal,” Carlton said. He slid onto to stool beside Shawn and waved the bartender over.

“So,” Shawn said after Carlton had ordered. “What’s a good looking detective like yourself doing here all by your lonesome? I’d expect you to have some kind of blonde book-nerd on your arm.”

“Actually, I just got out of a relationship.”

Shawn blinked. “Really? With who?”

“Some idiot. The guy actually claimed to be psychic. Can you believe that?” Carlton glanced sideways at Shawn, a coy smile playing on his lips.

Shawn grinned. “He sounds hot."

“Maybe a little. In an unkempt, slipshod sort of way. Although I will admit, he had the most gorgeous hazel eyes.”

Shawn felt himself blushing. He hid a smile behind the rim of his glass. “I can’t believe you let this guy get away. He sounds like a total catch.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect. He was a horrible narcissist.”

They drank in silence for a little while. Or as much silence as you can get in a nightclub with dance music blaring.

“For what it’s worth…” Shawn hesitated. “I’m sure he’s sorry.”

“Hm?”

“Your ex. I bet he’s sorry for Shawning everything up. Maybe he's one of those guys who gets freaked out about the real stuff. I think...I bet he liked you a lot. Like a scary, life-changing amount.”

“Yeah,” Carlton said, almost too quietly to be heard over the music. “I feel the same way.”

Shawn’s stomach did a flip-flop. Which was stupid. He was too old to feel like this, like a kid in puppy love, but Carlton made him feel that way.

He wondered when his feelings had changed from low-key attraction to this full blown crush. It was hard to pinpoint. Over the past few years, Carlton had saved Shawn’s life dozens of times. They had bickered and bantered. Hurt each other and helped each other. Gradually, Shawn had begun to see the human side of Carlton: his insecurities, daddy issues, silly habits, hobbies, fixations. 

But if he had to put money on it, Shawn would have said he really fell for Carlton on the first night of their undercover assignment. The first and only time he laid eyes on that sexy, sexy leg-wear.

“I didn’t make things any easier,” Carlton confessed. “I might have blown up at him. Said some hurtful, almost completely untrue things.”

“I’m sure you had some valid points.”

“Maybe. But I’ve known him long enough to know that he doesn’t do that crap on purpose. He clearly has abandonment issues.”

“Well, now, let’s not get carried away with the guessing,” Shawn said, his voice climbing in pitch. “I mean, that’s kind of a stretch. I’m sure he’s a totally well-adjusted guy with issues whatsoever.”

“Either way,” Carlton said. “I didn’t mean to be so hard on him. I would take it back if I could.”

“Mmm. I know it’s none of my business, but if you want my advice, you should tell him how you feel,” Shawn said. “Better yet, just show up at his office and kiss the hell out of him.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Carlton’s mouth. “You think so?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. And bring him one of those pineapple-mango smoothies from that place down the street. Oh! And a hotdog.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Carlton finished his drink. He took his phone out of his pocket and began tapping away.

Shawn watched, confused. He never took Carlton to be one of those people who let their phone addiction interrupt every conversation. But here he was typing on his phone, having seemingly forgotten he was talking to Shawn.

Shawn’s phone buzzed.

Well, if Carlton was going to be rude, Shawn might as well check it. He was confused for a moment to see the name ‘Lassie’ on the screen.

Then he got it. He grinned.

The text read: I’m _sorry about the other day._

While Shawn was still reading Carlton’s first text, he received another.

_Can we meet somewhere?_

Shawn typed back: _Sure. How abt the Psych office? Smoothies r on u. ;P_

More tapping from Carlton. _Meet you in 10 minutes._

Carlton paid the tab. As he was standing up, he looked at Shawn. “We are splitting a cab, right?”

“Oh, definitely. This has been adorable, but it taking two cars would just be stupid.”

* * *

An hour later found Carlton and Shawn walking together side by side, illuminated by streetlights. They’d taken a cab to the Psych office but walked all the way around the block twice. Once to get hotdogs and slushies, the second time just because neither of them wanted to stop.

By the time they neared the Psych office on their third lap, the hotdogs were eaten and wrappers tossed out.

“And the paramedic keeps pulling out these bloody handkerchiefs, like way too many to be crammed in there, but they just keep coming and coming,” Carlton said. “And the seals were going nuts, honking and flapping all over the crime scene.”

Shawn was laughing so hard he had to clutch Carlton for support, tears streaming down his face. “That’s horrible,” he wheezed. “I don’t know why I’m laughing.”

All of a sudden, he straightened up and looked at Carlton with suspicion. “Wait a minute. That’s the dead clown story.”

“Nothing gets past you, Spencer.”

“That’s your first date move. Is this a date?”

Carlton carefully avoided his gaze. “Do you want it to be?”

Shawn grinned. “Only if you’ll be a gentleman and walk me to my door.”

“We’ve walked past your door twice. I’m sure I can manage a third time.”

They reached the front of the Psych office. It was dark through the windows, the sign flipped to ‘closed’. Gus had gone home hours ago.

“Wanna come in for a drink? Or should we skip the drink, strip down to the garters and see where the night takes us?”

Carlton hesitated. “I don’t think so.”

Something sank inside Shawn's chest. Instead of showing it, he let that weird hysterical levity take over- the kind that usually caused him to insert his foot directly into his mouth.

“Alright, just the goodnight kiss then," he said, pulling a tube of chapstick out of his jeans pocket. "Let me get these puppies greased up real quick.”

“Spencer- Shawn. This is a bad idea,” Carlton said.

The chapstick lid came off with a pop, and Shawn began applying a liberal coat.

“We work together,” Carlton continued. “If it doesn’t work out with us, things could get ugly. We barely get along as it is.”

“Mmhm,” Shawn said.

“Would you just listen to me for one second?”

When Shawn continued applying chapstick, Carlton slapped the tube out of Shawn’s hand.

Shawn stared down at the chapstick lying in the gutter.

“What the hell, man? That was Burt’s Bees. Gus paid like eight dollars for that.”

“Then he spent too much money on chapstick!” Carlton snapped. He paused and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just...I really think this is a mistake.”

“Are you sure, Lassie?” Shawn pointed to his lips. “These bad boys are _really_ soft. I don’t want to brag, but they’ve been described as plush. Supple, even.”

Carlton closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He raised his finger like he was about to say something, seemed to think better of it, then walked away down the sidewalk.

“You’ll be back,” Shawn called after him. “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.”

Whatever had been sinking in Shawn's chest finally reached the bottom.

Shawn got out his keys and let himself into the Psych office. He flicked the switch, took a few steps inside and looked around. It felt more empty than empty. Shawn resolved to fill the silence with an audiobook. Gus’s new Audible credit had just come in and Shawn was planning to use it to find out what this whole 50 Shades of Gray craze was about.

The door jingled behind him. Shawn smiled.

Even though he’d seen it coming, he couldn’t help but be surprised by the force with which Carlton spun him around and kissed him, pulling him close with two fistfuls of Shawn’s shirt. It took the breath out of him. Shawn was too stunned to kiss back.

After a moment, he wrapped his arms around Carlton’s shoulders. Carlton’s arms slid around Shawn’s back.

Whatever Shawn had expected the kiss to feel like, he forgot his preconceptions in that instant. Though he certainly wouldn’t have guessed how soft Carlton’s lips were.

Lips that were warm and firm, but paradoxically pliant as well.

Lips that parted to grant Shawn an all-access pass to the mouth he’d been fantasizing about all week. Longer, if he were being honest. Shawn left no corner unexplored, lingering especially long over those sharp little bottom teeth on either side that Shawn loved to glimpse.

Lips that Shawn bit gently, eliciting a groan from Carlton that went all through him.

Lips that were a little swollen and probably numb by the time Shawn finally released him.

For a moment, the two men regarded each other like wild animals, wide-eyed and panting.

Carlton broke the silence.

“I like the chapstick,” he said. “Still not worth eight dollars, but the tingle is nice.”

Shawn grinned.

“How about another free sample?” Hooking one arm around Carlton’s neck, he dragged him down for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! fanfic accomplished :'D Thank you for reading my first Psych fanfic. I have a few ideas for other episodes in this timeline. Would you guys be interested in those, or should I do some one-shots instead? I have a lot of ideas for one-shots as well. >.>


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